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said. “It seems like a very bad thing to be.” And because he couldn’t help himself, Cristopoulis tipped forward again, his lips not seeking out LeeAnn’s mouth this time but a curl of her hair as it lay gently against her temple. He traced the curve of it around to the half-circle of her ear, need spiking in him again as she went nearly still in his arms, motionless but for a tremor of excitement. Or was it fear? No—not that, he thought. Everything about her was warm and alive, not cold, not frightened.
    He drifted his lips over the edge of her ear and spoke again, not missing the way her breath hissed between her teeth. “But you’re quite right in your concern. I’ll be very careful to hire innkeepers who are not so beautiful as you, or who fit so perfectly against me, or taste so good.”
    “Oh,” was all that LeeAnn could manage. He continued down her ear to the hollow of her neck, the collar of her cotton shirt giving way as he pressed his lips over her jumping pulse. When his teeth gently grazed her skin she squeaked, then she did push away from him, her hands going to her face but doing nothing to block the bright blush that stained her cheeks.
    “I’m so sorry, I—I’m sorry.”
    Cristopoulis instantly knew he’d gone too far, too fast.
    “Not at all, the fault is completely mine,” he said, straightening, smiling to ease the edge in his voice. Fortunately, LeeAnn had already turned away and couldn’t see the effect she’d had on his body.
    At that moment, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and LeeAnn jumped. “I can go inside,” she said hurriedly.
    “No, I will,” he said, as eager as she was to create some space between them, if only to preserve the fragile connection they’d barely begun to form. “The swans are happy to see you here.”
    He stepped to her side, and, unable to help himself, dropped a kiss on her shoulder. Before she could protest he was past her, pressing the phone to his ear.
    “Yes?” he asked as he stepped into the modern-decorated living room.
    As he suspected, it was Rico. “The royal family has declared your penance at an end,” his bodyguard said drily. “When Count Matretti announced your intentions to depart Minnesota, they realized suddenly how long you’ve been gone. They’re suitably mortified at their lapse, particularly the queen.”
    “Their lapse?” Cristopoulis repeated. “Except I was the one who took a swing at my coach, not them.” He wandered around the living room and into the kitchen, turning to watch LeeAnn through the windows. She still leaned over the deck railing, her gaze now on the swans gliding on the lake below. The wind picked up the trailing ends of her long blonde hair. She looked like the quintessential Minnesota girl, standing there, but her home told a different story.
    As Rico continued to outline the travel arrangements his father was suggesting, Cristopoulis allowed his gaze to rove over LeeAnn’s living space. While Werth Inn was steeped in Minnesota north country decor, this apartment could have been in any major city in Europe—at least as far as the furniture went. Everything was sleek and modern, with clean lines and wide open spaces between the few well-chosen pieces. The kitchen was stainless steel without a carved bear in sight, and the small stack of mail on the counter was corralled in a woven metal tray.
    Only a few prints lined the walls, but they were telling too—brightly framed travel posters showed 1920s Paris, London, Rome, Barcelona—even Cairo. A small spinning globe was one of the few tchotchkes in the room, and Cristopoulis found his gaze returning to the stack of mail.
    “You’re good then?” Rico prompted him.
    “With what?” Cristopoulis tried to focus on his man, but the top-most envelope caught his attention. It was a crisp, formal envelope imprinted with heavy ink—and the envelope had been opened.
    “With departing tomorrow,” Rico said, without a trace of irritation in his voice. He